


In asylum (I live a lie)

by redmyeyes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode: s01e10 Asylum, First Kiss, M/M, Missing Scene, Season/Series 01, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29672919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redmyeyes/pseuds/redmyeyes
Summary: "Tell me something honest about yourself," Dr. Ellicott says, his voice conveying soothing professionalism. "Like, uh, this brother you're road-tripping with. How do you feel about him?"
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 13
Kudos: 67
Collections: Every Time We Touch: A First-Time Wincest Fest





	In asylum (I live a lie)

* * * * *

"Tell me something honest about yourself," Dr. Ellicott says, his voice conveying soothing professionalism. "Like, uh, this brother you're road-tripping with. How do you feel about him?"

Sam freezes. Because the psychiatrist has just stumbled unwittingly on _the_ question. The only question. The question that has plagued him since he was thirteen, that was a major factor in him disappearing off to Stanford for four years, that, ever since they'd picked this little "road trip" back up six months ago, has been haunting his dreams and every waking moment. 

How _does_ he feel about Dean?

How does he _feel_ about Dean?

How does he feel about _Dean_?

Sam suspects he must look a little freaked out. Ellicott is waiting for an answer, and he needs to give him something real this time. He's already deflected half-a-dozen times, and Ellicott won't give them the info they need on the Roosevelt riot unless Sam plays good patient.

He settles for a half-truth. "Dean? He, uh, he's always taken care of me, you know? Since we were kids."

"Uh huh," the doctor drawls, "and how do you _feel_ about that, Sam?"

"I don't… I'm not sure what you…" Sam says, fumbling and awkward.

"You're road-tripping," the doctor says, backtracking. "For how long now? What prompted it?"

"Yeah, 'bout six months now," Sam says, more comfortable now that they're on firmer ground. "We, uh, I mean, I graduated college, so, this was kind of… um, a celebration, I guess." Sam feels nausea roiling in his stomach at the lie, clenches his eyes against the memory of Jess in flames on the ceiling.

"Six months is quite a while for a road trip," the doctor notes blandly. "How's it been going?"

"Yeah, we're, uh, you know, criss-crossing the country," Sam says, trying for honesty. "I mean, we didn't really see each other for four years, so. Some catching up to do, I guess."

"Why didn't you see each other for four years?" Ellicott asks, leaning forward against his desk.

Sam fidgets. He's never been good at lying. Could never paste on a mask of easy charm or aloof belligerence like Dean can, could never summon up the gruff, best-not-mess-with-me look his dad wears at all times. Instead, Sam feels, has always felt, utterly transparent, as if anyone who cared to look would be able to read his entire life story right from his face. And so he hides as best he can. But it's never been comfortable.

"We… I mean, I was busy with college and he was busy with work, so…" Sam says, trailing off.

"No holidays?" The doctor prods.

Sam shrugs. "Timing never really worked out. He… travels a lot. For work."

"What sort of work does your brother do, Sam?"

"Sales," Sam says shortly, that lie coming naturally at least, long overused on guidance counselors and concerned neighbours.

"So," Ellicott says, leaning back in his chair, summarising the points as he ticks them off on his fingers. "You've been road-tripping with Dean for six months now, after having not seen him for four years while you were in college. So I'll ask again, Sam. What's that been like for you?"

_What's that been like?_

What's it been like, having finally convinced yourself that you were just crazy and confused for so many years, that whatever… _feelings_ … you felt for your big brother were simply the byproduct of a lonely and fucked-up childhood in which Dean was the _only_ constant, having convinced yourself that all you needed was a normal life and it would burn those fucked-up feelings right out of you, purge the slate clean… What's it been like, having those convictions brutally upended the moment, the very second, that Dean turned up at Stanford and wrestled you to the ground?

These are questions that Sam also asks himself in the dead of night in anonymous motel rooms, the only sound that of Dean's soft breathing in the bed next to his. Six months later, he's no closer to finding truths to any of them.

"It's been… weird," Sam says finally. Then offers up something more truthful. "I mean, it's like I've been… frozen in time. For him. He still treats me like the kid I was when I left."

"You want him to treat you differently?"

_He wants…_

Whatever it is that he wants, he's sure not going to vocalise it here. Can barely form it into conscious thought even _without_ directing all his energies to avoiding such a thing.

"You want him to treat you like the man you've become," the doctor continues, and Sam's eyes widen. He can only nod in response.

* * * * *

When Sam exits the office half an hour later, Dean's waiting for him, leaning against glass windows next to the door, looking bored.

Sam walks right past him without a second glance, and Dean has to scurry to catch up and match his pace.

"Dude! You were in there forever. What the hell were you talking about?" Dean asks, eyeing him suspiciously.

"The hospital," Sam returns shortly.

* * * * *

After it's all over, after Dean's salted and burned Ellicott's bones, after Sam wakes up in the basement of the asylum with a sore jaw and groggy mind, Sam's not actually sure whether Dean's ever going to forgive him. He's not sure whether he's just caused irreparable damage to this tenuous, fraught thing between them, and he feels a bit frantic with the need to explain himself. To soothe things.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam calls, tentative, from across the roof of the Impala.

Dean turns to look at him, but it's not a look that invites conversation. Sam rushes ahead anyway. "I'm sorry, man. I said some awful things back there…"

"You remember all that?" Dean asks, curious now.

"Yeah…" Sam remembers… he remembers the _rage_. So _much_ rage, bubbling up, sour and rotten, as if from the deepest, darkest parts of himself that he'd kept hidden and locked away for so long that he wasn't even aware they existed. He shudders to think that that ugliness is a part of him. He knows it wasn't just the ghost.

"Yeah," he repeats slowly. "It's like I couldn't control it. But I didn't mean it, any of it."

"You didn't, huh?" Dean asks flatly.

"No, of course not!" Sam insists, appalled. "Do we need to talk about this?"

"No," Dean says tersely, moving to get in the Impala. "I'm not really in a sharing-and-caring kinda mood. I just wanna get some sleep."

And Sam knows it's a bad idea to push when Dean's like this, but he can't help it, feels wrung out and raw from too much emotion coursing through him – remnants of ghost-fueled rage mixing with guilt and shame that he's caused Dean pain, mixing with cold, clawing terror that he's fucked things up for good.

He's around the car to the driver's side and tugging on Dean's wrist before he can process what he's doing.

"Dean," he says, pleading. "I didn't mean it."

Dean tugs his hand back angrily. "Really, Sammy? Which part did you not mean? The part where you called me dad's 'good little solider'? That I'm 'desperate for his approval'? 'Cause I _know_ you believe those things."

Sam shakes his head, but doesn't contradict him. He's not _wrong_ , except that he _is…_ he's got the meaning backwards, underlying cause all twisted.

Dean rounds on him, tone scathing and bitter now. "Or how about the part where you pulled a gun on me? You _shot_ me, Sammy. Or woulda, if I'd been stupid enough to give you a loaded weapon."

"It wasn't me, Dean," Sam repeats, really pleading now, on the verge of tears. "Please…" 

"Getting tired of taking my orders?" Dean mocks scathingly. "You're not _pathetic_ , like me, remember?"

"Please, please, Dean, please," Sam cracks, pawing at Dean's leather jacket, clutching onto the lapels for dear life, _needing…_ he needs Dean not to look at him like that – hurt and disappointed and _betrayed_ – needs Dean not to look at him like Sam's just stabbed him in the heart. He _needs…_

Because it was never about Dean. Because _Sam_ is the one desperate for _Dean's_ approval, and he's desperate to _not_ need it. Desperate to be the man that Dean can look up to and respect, and desperate to stay coddled and cared for, Dean's baby brother. And the warring emotions are splitting him apart at the seams, because all the rage, all the sneering disgust, it had never been directed at Dean. _Never_ at Dean, always inwards, and he can't… he just can't… contain it… anymore.

Before he can stop himself, he's crushing his lips into Dean's, needing to convey with his body what he can't get across in words. 

Dean is frozen against him for an endless moment and Sam feels icy terror shoot through his veins, desperately hoping… _please kiss me back please kiss me back please kiss me back please please_ and then Dean _does_ , briefly, but then pushes him back, hands firm on his shoulders.

And the look on Dean's face… it's like stunned wonder is warring with wary suspicion and disbelief and lingering resentment and hurt, emotions flitting over his face so fast it's as if they don't know how or where to settle. "Sammy?" he tries, voice cracking.

"Dean," Sam says, held breath escaping in relief. "It's not… you're not… that's not _you_ , okay? That wasn't me."

He leans back in to kiss Dean again, and this time Dean pulls him in, fingers threading through his hair.

This time when he pulls back, Dean's face is all wonder. "Sammy, what the hell?" he breathes. "How long…?"

"Forever," Sam replies. "Since always."

And Sam feels something loosen and settle in his chest, because despite his ever-present frustration and worry for their missing father, despite his growing apprehension for these bizarre visions and powers inside of him, despite all of that, at least _that_ question's been answered. Because it's not a "how", but a "what". What does he feel for Dean? Everything. He feels _everything_.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> *Title taken from the song Asylum by Disturbed.
> 
> Written for the [First-Time Wincest Fest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/First_Time_Wincest_Fest), which had the amazing, brilliant idea of turning every single episode into a first time.
> 
> Not gonna lie, I chose this ep by rolling a D10 (season) plus a D20 (episode), but I was _damn_ happy with where it ended up. Think if I'd landed on Bugs or Racist Truck, I might've had to re-roll.
> 
> Then again… wasn't Bugs the one where they were mistaken for a gay couple (for the first time?) and where Dean had a nice, hot steam shower….? Omfg, am I going to be writing sexy showertime pwp for BUGS?? *headdesk* Get out of my brain! *swats*


End file.
